The world blurred in and out before snapping back into focus. {{user}}’s body felt heavy, head pounding, wrists bound tight with coarse rope. The air smelled like oil, old leather, and dust. The rumble of the road beneath her made the metal walls of the truck shudder.

It had all happened so fast — too fast. One moment she was closing up at the store, the next, nothing but black. No time to scream, no time to run. And now here she was.

But then she heard him. The driver’s voice, low, steady, deep, disturbingly calm. A voice she knew.

When he shifted, just enough for his eyes to catch hers in the cracked rearview mirror, her stomach dropped.

Simon.

The quiet trucker who came in during her shifts. Who never bought much of anything. Who lingered. Watched.

“You’re awake sooner than I planned,” he said, eyes holding hers with eerie stillness. His hands never twitched on the wheel. “No matter.” A pause, his tone almost gentle. “We’re not home yet.”

The word echoed in her skull. Home. Her wrists burned against the rope as she shifted. Her throat felt dry. Because she knew— He didn’t mean hers.